


Cullen/F!Inquisitor One-shot Collection

by eriathiel



Series: Fools [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22725973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eriathiel/pseuds/eriathiel
Summary: A collection of Cullen/F!Mage Trevelyan one-shots inspired by one word story prompts.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Series: Fools [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/700767
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	1. Strangle

**Author's Note:**

> Cullen reassures and comforts Evelyn in Haven after a close-call in the Hinterlands leaves her struggling to sleep.

Sitting at the edge of Haven’s frozen lake, Evelyn rested her elbows on her knees and tried to make her mind go blank. It was a counterintuitive aim, really. The more she tried, the more difficult it became. It wasn’t something she could talk about, either. Even those who she was building a good rapport with wouldn’t be able to help. The Iron Bull would shrug and say something to the effect of “they were assholes”. Varric might offer to buy her a drink, but she didn’t want one. Cassandra intimidated her far too much for her to be comfortable airing her concerns - she’d already made her doubts about her role perfectly clear; if she thought she was about to shed a tear for every enemy she killed in combat she’d risk undoing any progress she’d made so far with the Seeker. 

Paying attention to her surroundings had become second nature to her as of late, so when she first heard footsteps approaching her head whipped round almost of its own volition, her hand already reaching for the utility knife at her belt. But then she saw Commander Cullen, cloaked but unarmoured, and she relaxed again. She half expected him to give a polite greeting before going on his way, but he surprised her by lowering himself to the ground at her side. 

“I see you can’t sleep either,” he said in greeting.

“I think sleepless nights will become more common than restful ones before all of this is over,” she sighed.

Cullen made a noise of rueful agreement. 

“How’s the throat?” He asked.

“I didn’t think the bruises were that noticeable,” she traced a fingertip along her neck.

They’d had plenty of time to fade, after all. Now they were more of a sickly yellow than anything else. Even her voice had lost the most of its rasp, thanks to the daily elfroot teas Solas had recommended. 

“They aren’t,” he agreed “Cassandra mentioned in her report that it was your first kill in close combat. Thought perhaps we should keep an eye on you.”

Ah. That made sense, she supposed. Beforehand she didn’t think there’d be much difference. A kill was a kill, whether up close or twenty feet away, she was still ending a life. Proximity didn’t make a difference in the grand scheme of things. And then...well, then she’d found out firsthand just what a difference it really made. It was one thing to hit somebody with a fireball from such a distance that she could barely feel its heat, it was another thing entirely to feel her blade slicing through flesh. 

“I’m…” she was about to say ‘fine’, but then she realised it would be an obvious lie “I’m alive.”

“And if you hadn’t done it, you might not be,” he said gently.

“I know that,” she nodded “It’s not guilt, not exactly. It’s just...whenever I close my eyes to sleep, or pick up food to eat, I can feel it again. The flesh resisting the blade. The blood spraying across my face. I don’t mean for it to happen, it just replays in my head over and over.”

“It’s instinctive,” he said “Killing isn’t supposed to be easy. I dread to think what the world would be like were we all born with a stomach for it.”

“Does it get easier?”

“...Not really,” he admitted “You just get used to it.”

“Thank you,” she murmured after she’d allowed his response to sink in.

“For what?” He chuckled “Offering less than no comfort?”

“For being honest. Better a nasty truth than a pretty lie.”

“I quite agree,” he said “...So what happened out there? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“It was stupid,” she sighed, pulling her cloak tighter around herself “One of the rogue templars. He’d been disarmed and knocked to the ground...in the chaos it was easy to assume he’d been neutralised and move onto the next threat running at you, y’know? I didn’t even notice him sneaking up on me until he’d smited me and his hands were around my throat. It’s a good thing Cassandra suggested I keep a dagger on my belt as a last resort, honestly.”

“You stabbed him, then?”

“In the throat. Seemed the best way to loosen his grip,” she replied grimly.

“You handled it well,” the Commander said “You didn’t freeze up, you weren’t stunned. You did what had to be done. Allow it to be a lesson to you, and then it won’t be a regret.”

There was a moment of silence then as Evelyn allowed his words to sink in. Then she took in the most calm and collected breath she’d managed in weeks.

“Thank you - really,” she said finally.

He was right. It was one thing for Cassandra to warn her about making sure whoever she faced in battle was dead before turning her back on them, it was quite another thing entirely to face the consequences of not doing so - to feel the grip tightening around her throat and make peace with the fact that she might’ve just lived her final day. The paralyzing fear that gripped her in that moment was a far better teacher than a few words of caution. After all, she was still shaking it off days upon days after the fact. 

It was easy for her brain to delve into what she could’ve done better. It was her default mode of thinking, really - and from finding a place to stab that would’ve killed the enemy quicker, even if just on a selfish level to stop her from having to watch the light drain from his eyes, to not turning her back on a foe that wasn’t beyond-a-doubt dead, that moment had been full of things she could’ve managed in a better way. But Cullen’s words were more reassuring than she’d expected. This was his area of expertise, and he had very little reason to coddle her. If she’d handled it disastrously, she was sure he’d suggest so (albeit gently). He could hardly be trusted to give advice at the war table otherwise. 

“How are you?” She asked after another few moments of silence “You’re not asleep, either.”

“Rest is hard to find nowadays.”

“Well, maybe insomnia loves company as much as misery does.” 

“Perhaps it does. Have you always had trouble sleeping?”

“More or less. It was murder in the Circle - whether we could sleep or not, if we were supposed to be in bed, we had to be in bed. I thought I’d go mad spending so long staring at my pillow,” she said and then paused “Well, I suppose you know that.”

It was the longest she’d gone without remembering that he was a former Templar. It was something that had been a point of awkwardness between them in the beginning - she’d been an ardent supporter of the mage rebellion, and he made no secret of viewing the Circles as a necessary evil. However, it wasn’t quite the point of contention she imagined it would be with some of the more militant Templars she’d known back in the day. There were no snide comments or accusatory looks. If anything, most of the awkwardness came from them both worrying that the other might feel uncomfortable in their presence. All it took was a joke or two across the war table, followed by a friendly chat or two in passing, before they finally settled into a comfortable cordiality. But still all the while, she was aware of what he used to be. Not purposely - it was like accidentally becoming aware of one’s breathing or blinking; not a grudge, just a nagging, persistent awareness. However now, slowly but surely, he was just becoming Cullen. 

...and that was allowing the crush to form. It wasn’t anything serious. Just an instinctive reaction to being around an undeniably handsome man. If he’d have been in her Circle, she might’ve understood what led some girls to throw caution to the wind and sneak off in the middle of the night to meet the object of their infatuation. But she still wouldn’t have acted on it. She preferred her forehead unbranded. 

“An empty bed did tend to mean trouble - both if that bed belonged to a mage, or an off-duty Templar.”

“And yet only the mages ever seemed to get punished for it,” she said before she was even fully able to help herself.

“I’m sorry the system failed you,” he said, incredibly sincerely at that, before she could apologise for her words. 

Evelyn paused. That certainly hadn’t been the response she’d expected. 

“I wasn’t trying to be an arse,” she confessed, any fire gone from her voice “What I was trying to get at was now that I can get up and wander whenever restlessness strikes, I intend to make the most of it. The cold is worth the view.”

The frozen lake was picturesque enough in the light of day, but at night it was truly beautiful. The surrounding woods were black against the night sky, which was awash with stars - stars that were mirrored in the ice, almost like a second sky lay at their feet. It was the sort of thing she’d dreamed of from her bed, confined in the Circle. 

“I didn’t take offense,” he replied “I don’t want your role in the rebellion to be a point of awkwardness between us...er, that is, as we do our jobs. I hold no grudge against you for it, and I’m not about to demand you get thrown back into a Circle and the key thrown away.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she laughed quietly “It might make these talks a little bit awkward.”

Now it was her turn to blush and falter “I mean, if we happen to both be awake like this again in the future.”

“I’m sure we will,” he said warmly.

Evelyn pretended her difficulty looking at him then was more to do with the beauty of the scenery, and not the butterflies beginning to flutter their wings in her abdomen. 


	2. Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn teases Cullen, Cullen teases her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the prompt "tease". Enjoy!

A year or two ago, if anybody had told Evelyn Trevelyan that sitting in judgement of an Avvar Chieftain would one day be the  _ least  _ stressful part of her week, she’d have laughed in their face. And yet, here she sat, stifling snorts of laughter as Josephine described his attack on Skyhold...with a goat. In fact, holding back her laughter was perhaps the most difficult part of the whole thing. Somehow, she managed - and with no help from a certain Cullen Rutherford, either, who stood between the two of them to her far left. She could tell from the twitch of his jaw, even from this angle, that he was hiding his own amusement. Even Josephine had a certain note of amusement to her voice.

She could hardly blame either of them, nor even herself. It was a nice change from the death of innocents and oily snake-like Orlesian nobles who’d poison her wine as easily as they complimented the green hue of her gaze. 

“He meant to murder Tevinters, but got feisty with your Inquisition,” Chief Movran shrugged, unbothered by the proceedings as a whole “A redheaded mother guarantees a brat.”

She’d be sure to pass his warning onto Leliana. And perhaps Bull. He did have a thing for redheads, after all. He should know what he was potentially getting himself into. 

“I thank you for your...insights,” Evelyn replied dryly. 

“Do as you’ve earned, Inquisitor. My clan yields. My remaining boys have brains still in their heads,” the Avvar chuckled in response. 

Allowing the faintest hint of a smirk to surface on her face as an idea entered her head, Evelyn leaned back against the throne. 

“It seems our conflict was accidental, Chief Movran, but it cannot be repeated. I banish you and your clan,” the crowd that had gathered to witness the exchange buzzed with whispers at that “...With as many weapons as you can carry, to Tevinter.”

Cullen’s head bowed just a little, and though she could only see the back of his head, she knew he was holding back an amused smile just as she was. The Chief boomed his amusement and his delight in equal measure as he turned to exit the hall, but just as the soldiers moved to escort him, he paused and turned back to her. Any trace of humour left Cullen’s form, his hand moving to the pommel of his sword, ready for whatever trickery that could potentially be on the way. The two soldiers at either side of the steps leading to the throne followed his lead.

“You’ve heard what we say about redheaded women - you should hear of what a woman with green eyes guarantees.”

The crowd didn’t even bother to whisper now, muttering in equal parts amusement and disbelief.

“I daren’t ask,” was the only response that Evelyn could muster. 

“A shame,” Chief Movran shrugged and then allowed himself to be led away. 

Evelyn huffed a laugh. With the day’s judgements over, she rose to her feet as Cullen and Josephine approached, amusement plain on both their faces - although Cullen’s was far more begrudging.

“Only an Avvar would flirt with the Inquisitor as she sits on her throne,” Cullen commented ruefully. 

“Should we add him to my list of potential suitors?” Evelyn teased.

“I should hope not - they kidnap their brides,” Josephine pointed out “Although I suppose he’d be hard-pressed to do so with the Commander around.”

“Perhaps, but how would Commander Cullen hear all the way from his tower?” Evelyn countered in a display of well-practised cluelessness.

In truth, she yearned for the day when Cullen could come and go from her quarters whenever he pleased - better yet, the day he could move right in - rather than sneaking in not long before midnight, and creeping away again in the horrifyingly early hours of the morning so that he could be found in his tower by the time dawn rolled in. Unfortunately, the Inquisition’s position was still too precarious for the Commander of “her” armies to be seen sauntering to and from her chambers at any and every hour. So they were careful, and they played dumb. Josephine and Leliana knew damn well enough what was really going on - they always knew  _ everything  _ that went on - as did quite a few of her inner circle, but it never hurt to practise the innocent facade in front of them. It made them much less prone to slip-ups when it truly mattered...and it allowed them to avoid a topic of conversation that both she and Cullen would much rather see private for the foreseeable future. The bedroom may have been as good as a stage in Orlais, but Evelyn was not Orlesian. For that, she thanked Andraste every day. 

Josephine suppressed a smirk “As you say, Inquisitor.”

“A shame, anyway,” she sighed teasingly, echoing Movran’s earlier words “Muscles and war paint are a breathtaking combination, I must say.”

* * *

Evelyn thought nothing more of their little exchange after that. Contrary to popular belief, Cullen had a good sense of humour, and while she didn’t doubt he’d get her back for her words, she didn’t suspect it to go past her getting a taste of her own medicine when she least expected it. He’d needle her for her words for a bit and she’d accept the mockery with a smile on her face. That, she could happily do - she deserved it, and if a bit of a laugh kept Cullen’s spirits up then she’d let him make fun of her for the rest of her days. So when a breathless recruit came with a note suggesting she bear witness to the troops’ training the next morning, she thought nothing of it. Cullen insisted they worked harder at their drills when she was present, and she preferred to attend to paperwork after she’d had a chance to fully wake up. The bracing morning air of the Frostbacks would certainly see to that. 

Pulling on her warmest set of clothes, she left the main keep and was in the training yard in no time, already feeling cautiously optimistic about the day ahead. It was when she got to the training yard, however, that she realised she was in trouble. The men were training shirtless, which wasn’t very far out of the norm - it stopped them overheating too much, and saved them cleaning mud from their clothes every single day - and Cullen had seen fit to join them. This wasn’t too unusual either, and it didn’t take Evelyn long to notice (only after tearing her gaze from him) that she wasn’t the only admirer that his state of undress had shown. Cullen had never been one to ask him men to do something he wasn’t also completely willing to do himself - most of the drills saw him as sweaty and muddy as his men by the end of it. 

What  _ was  _ unusual about this time was the...nature of the mud strewn across his form. Most of the men were covered in mud, and she strongly suspected there’d be even more sparring matches to come when it came to who could bathe first, but the muck covering them was without rhyme or reason, mostly across their backs where they’d been knocked to the ground, or on their hands and arms where they’d been called on to army-crawl around the ring. But Cullen’s? Cullen’s was decidedly different. Strewn across his arms, chest, and abdomen in haphazard stripes, anybody who saw him would think it was just a temporary disregard for cleanliness - a show to his men that he wasn’t afraid of getting just as dirty as they were for this bout of training. And he  _ was _ fighting dirty, just not in the way most would expect. The patterns in the mud formed across his barely-dressed form bore a striking resemblance to Avvar war paint - for one who was looking to make the connection, at least...and judging from the smirk he gave her when he noticed her arrival, the bastard knew it.

Evelyn choked back a groan. 

“Moore and Whitehead, Benton and Branch - sparring in the ring, one on one. The rest of you, laps around the ring until I say otherwise,” Cullen ordered before strolling towards her “Inquisitor. What do you make of them?” 

“Very impressive, Commander,” she said, unable to keep the ruefulness from her tone.

She could feel her cheeks beginning to blaze, and she wished she hadn’t dressed quite as warmly. 

“You certainly have a mind for effective strategy,” she added.

Cullen’s responding laugh was low, emanating from his chest - it was more of a purr than a chuckle.

“I try.”

Maker, where was the man who once upon a time struggled to compliment her without turning a shade of red as deep as his mantle? The fact that she was eye-level with his chest as she stood beside him made looking at him no easier. Instead, she kept her eyes pinned on the soldiers who sparred in the ring. Would jumping him in public be good or bad for morale, she wondered? It probably depended entirely on the onlooker. Bull and Sera might applaud it, but Vivienne likely wouldn’t share in their joy. That didn’t make much of a change though - Vivienne very rarely had any positive emotions as far as Evelyn was concerned. 

“Are you alright, Inquisitor?” 

She glanced at Cullen, doing her utmost to keep her eyes trained on his face. There was even a small streak of mud along his jawline. 

“Hmm? Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just warm. I underestimated how cold it would be today.”

“You do seem a bit flushed,” he commented.

“Bastard,” she muttered beneath her breath. 

“What was that?”

“ _ Faster _ ,” she said innocently “Their laps around the ring are faster than I expected. Won’t it tire them out? I thought you were meant to start slow.”

“They have good stamina,” he shrugged a little.

Even  _ that  _ sounded dirty in this context. Back before they first became, ahem,  _ involved _ , his shyness had worried her a little. Not in a massively bad way - it was endearing, but it was also a quality she shared. Many a night upon first arriving back in Skyhold she’d laid awake at night, wondering if things would ever go anywhere between the two of them when they were both so cautious about making the first move. It seemed her fears had been entirely unfounded...and if his awkwardness had been endearing in the beginning, this streak of confidence that had prompted his peacocking now was absolutely dizzying. She had to bite the corner of her cheek to stop herself from swooning.

“Well, that’s not something I’d ever complain about,” she replied lightly.

Cullen gave a sort of half-cough half-laugh at that, shaking his head as Evelyn stole another look at him, trying to commit the sight to her long-term memory. Hopefully it wouldn’t distract her too much to plot her revenge.

* * *

There was no shortage of tailors eager to send their masterpieces to Skyhold in hopes that the Inquisitor might favour them. It was almost amusing to her that the ones who could most afford the clothing were the ones getting it for free. And the clothing didn’t stop at day clothes. No, the Orlesians in particular seemed to take great joy in sending her all kinds of scandalous nightwear, which never failed to puzzle her because who in Thedas would see it? The rumours of her and Cullen were out there, but she somehow doubted they were vying for his patronage - now there was a mental image that had her giggling. 

The ones that were truly scandalous - those comprising of little more than lace and string - stayed shoved at the back of her wardrobe, where they’d remain until Corypheus conquered Thedas and slaughtered them all. Evelyn much preferred warm, comfortable nightdresses or, these days, nothing at all considering Cullen’s frequent presence. There were some, however, that she very much admired and hadn’t yet dared to wear. It felt silly, waiting for an opportunity to wear a nightdress, but it seemed she’d finally found one. She knew the one she was looking for the moment her fingertips grazed the chiffon, soft as butter. Pulling it from the wardrobe, a tentative smile stretched her lips.

It was a deep crimson - a colour she’d never really worn. It was seen as attention grabbing,  _ tempting _ . Two things one should never be in the Circle, if one wanted to last long. That was still a habit she was trying to work her way out of, with much patience from Josephine. Now she’d finally come to a place in her life where tempting was not a bad thing. It was...an adjustment. But hardly a bad one. And anyway, she longed to see Cullen’s face when he saw her in what had long been considered his unofficial colour here in Skyhold. 

Her confidence wavered only slightly as she pulled the nightgown over her head and adjusted it so that it sat properly on her form. The neckline was a plunging V-shape that was more at home on Vivienne than herself, with a small cluster of gems where it ended at the bottom of her sternum. It formed much the same shape on her back, leaving most of it exposed, and with the slit at the side that started at her hip, the gown - despite being floor-length - was close to revealing more than it covered, especially with the breeze blowing in from her balcony doors. 

Once she was happy with how it sat, she let her hair down so that it spilled in long dark waves down her back. It was only after this that she found herself with hopelessly little to do with all of the nervous energy fluttering around in her stomach. With her paperwork and all other duties done for the day, and the knowledge that it could be anywhere from a half hour to three hours before Cullen was able to come with her, she found herself looking around her chambers for something to do. She dearly hoped this wouldn’t be one of the rare nights when he was unable to duck in at all, but judging by the looks he’d been giving her all day, it would take an army of Qunari to keep him away. 

After a final once-over in the mirror, she picked up the copy of Swords and Shields that Dorian had gifted her as a joke, and sprawled out on her bed - maybe she could pick up some seduction techniques. Would Cullen appreciate her gasping breathlessly at his every word, bosom heaving and knees trembling? She snorted at the thought. He’d probably drag her to the nearest healer if she exhibited such behaviour. It’d make for a good general prank, but not quite the joke-slash-seduction she was aiming for tonight.

An hour of heaving breasts, bulging muscles, and lust-filled sighs later, Evelyn heard the door open with a soft click. The tell-tale rattle of armour followed, then the shutting and bolting of the door. In one swift movement the book was thrown beneath her bed, and she arranged her limbs into what she hoped was a bit more of a seductive pose - the leg left exposed by the gown crossed over the one beneath it, while she leaned back on her elbows, pushing her chest out just a little. Blond hair came into view, beginning to curl just a little at the ends thanks to his strenuous activities over the course of the day. At first he looked to her desk as he neared the top of the stairs, and when he didn’t see her there his head turned towards the bed. She knew she’d gotten the reaction she hoped for when he almost tripped over the very last step.

“Maker’s bre-,” he regained his balance at the last moment, but his gaze never left her form.

Evelyn smiled. Should she say something? Purr out a low ‘ _ good evening, Commander _ ’? No, she’d just feel like she was trying too hard - if she even managed to say it without cracking up. Her small grin probably said it all, anyway.

“I deserve that,” he said eventually.

“ _ Deserve _ ?” She echoed teasingly “Like it’s a punishment?” 

“No! Maker,  _ no _ ,” he groaned and lifted a hand to his face...but continued to look at her through his fingers “I had wondered if I’d gone too far out there…That you might not see the funny side.”

“Oh I absolutely wanted to die,” she admitted with a laugh “But not in a bad way.” 

“The words I always dreamed of hearing from you,” he snorted. 

She slid from the bed and sauntered towards him, nightgown flowing with her every move.

“My brave Avvar warrior,” she teased, fingertips sliding up the side of his jaw. 

Rising to her tiptoes, she gave him a chaste peck on the lips, feeling him chuckle as she did so, before moving her hands to his shoulder to unbuckle one of his pauldrons.

“I can’t wait for a time when armour isn’t a daily essential,” she admitted softly.

Not just because of the inconvenience, nor even because of how often she found herself cursing how it acted as a barrier between them when they managed to catch the odd moment or two together during the day. He’d often expressed the same annoyance himself. But the main reason she yearned for a time when armour wasn’t an everyday necessity was because it acted as a constant reminder of the danger they were in. Despite being a mage, she’d taken to keeping at least one knife on her person at all times as an extra precaution. Leliana had gifted her a rather beautiful one that actually kept poison  _ inside  _ the hilt, to be excreted onto the blade when a mechanism in the pommel was activated. And despite her love for loose, flowing dresses, she’d begun to wear a corset lined with a thin, near-impenetrable fabric beneath - one rumoured to be a favourite of Empress Celene - just in case somebody should attack. Even when she slept, she had a dagger wedged between the bed frame and the mattress...she hadn’t failed to notice Cullen’s habit of leaving his sword resting against the headrest at his side of the bed, either. Assassination attempts were more a matter of “when”, not “if” nowadays. She couldn’t help but feel like the day she failed to take precautions would be the exact day she wished she had. Maybe Leliana had gotten in her head, but there were far worse people to take logic from. 

What would it be like, to wake up and not choose an outfit by how easy it would be to fight in? Or shoes by how quickly she could run while wearing them, if chased? To be certain that the strange creaking sound in the middle of the night was just the floorboards settling, and not an assassin making their entrance? That the stern man in the crowd was only reaching into his cloak for his coin-purse, and not a weapon?

“Or when we can actually wake up naturally together and not have to immediately spring into action, worrying about if we’d overslept and who might see,” Cullen admitted, seeming to finish her thought for her. 

He had a point. He’d been bringing the same stack of old paperwork to and from her quarters for well over a month now. It was a miracle nobody had noticed. Weariness had crept into his tone as he lifted his arm to work on the other pauldron. Piece by piece his armour was slowly placed onto the couch by the staircase. One day, when the Inquisition’s position could no longer be described as anything near precarious, they might get particularly bold and have a second armour stand placed beside her own - one big enough for his frame. Until then, they had to make do. 

“So many lovely things worth fighting for,” she hummed “I suppose that makes us lucky.”

“I know I certainly am.”

What did the maniacs fighting for Corypheus have? Certainly nothing like this. There was  _ nothing  _ like this, not that she’d ever experienced anyway - this spark between them which had been fanned into a forest fire. 

The moment his breastplate was lowered to the couch and out of his hands, he was pulling her flush against him with her back to his chest, big strong arms wrapping around her. Evelyn practically purred, relaxing into the embrace. This was what she longed to feel every time that damned armour was in the way. 

“Now you’re just flirting with me,” she accused with a smile on her face.

“I would never,” he replied in mock-offence.

Having to hunch to compensate for their difference in height, he lowered his head to bury his face where her neck met her shoulder. 

“Says the man who contoured his - very impressive, might I add - abs with mud not twelve hours ago, just to see me blush,” she said.

They were big words for somebody who was melting into his grasp, but she didn’t care. 

“And it worked,” she could hear the smirk on his face “I’m not sure what shade of red I prefer on you - the one your face turned out in the training yard, or this one.” 

He tugged gently at her skirts to emphasise his point, and she was powerless to stop the blush from rising to her cheeks once more “Ah, look, I can have both.”

Grinning, she turned in his arms to face him, although she had to crane her neck to look at him properly. When he leaned down she thought he was about to kiss her at first, but then he hooked his hands just below her butt, lifting her up with a firm grip on her thighs so that they could comfortably be nose-to-nose. One warm, calloused hand dug into the skin of the bare leg exposed by the nightdress, and even that felt incredibly intimate. 

“Hello,” she murmured, the tip of her nose brushing his.

“Hello,” he smiled softly in return. 

There was a certain kind of thrill to how strong he was, holding her like she weighed little more than a pile of paperwork. 

“I missed you,” she said.

Maybe it was a weird thing to say. They saw each other more at Skyhold than they did when her responsibilities dragged her all around Ferelden and Orlais, but it wasn’t like they had an endless amount of time to give each other. There were some days when they barely spoke at all, when she had to fight for time to simply pass through his office just to give him a wave and a wink. Even when he did manage to sneak into her quarters after sunset, they were usually both so tired that they’d whisper to each other in the darkness of the room for a while until they blacked out from sheer exhaustion. The part of her that always tried to look on the bright side insisted that it just made the time they spent together all the more special. Maybe, once this war was over (and if they were lucky enough to be alive at the end of it), they’d find they had far too much time to spend together, and soon grow sick of the sight of one another and soon run out of things to say. She very much doubted it though. Oftentimes she felt she could sit with Cullen all day and still not grow bored of his company.

If this was a honeymoon period, it was certainly a lengthy one. 

“I missed you, too,” he admitted, one hand moving up to press into the small of her back, pulling her more tightly against him. 

She squeezed her legs against his hips.

“I love you,” she murmured.

It was the first time either one of them had said it. But she didn’t feel nervous. There was never any fear of mockery - or worse, rejection. Not with Cullen. And she needn’t fear anyway, for his eyes softened and he pressed his forehead gently against hers.

“I love you too.” 

And then he kissed her. 


End file.
